Influential is Instrumental

The moment I saw her name on my schedule my senior year in high school, I knew that my life was going to find inspiration.  It was a class called Masterpieces I.  It was a famous class because by the time you finished out the year with both I and II, you felt you had traversed the world.  

You had been to the Sistine Chapel and looked up at that glorious ceiling.  You had also looked around that beautiful chapel and realized all of the other famous artists who had compensated to the reverent beauty of that place.  You had walked the grounds of the Roman Coliseum; snuck past the guards to dream of walking the grounds of the Parthenon (fun fact: my father was blessed to walk those grounds before it was cordoned off for safety and preservation purposes).  

You had bypassed the lines in the Louvre to gaze in wonder at DaVinci's Mona Lisa of course, but also the Venus de Milo and Winged Victory.  The pietas were beautiful and heartbreaking.  You noticed the architecture of every ancient European and Greek city, noting the intricate doors, buttresses, and the spectacle of stained glass of the Cathedral de Notre-Dame.  

Winged Victory - Photo from the Louvre Site

I can't tell you how many places made the must-see-before-I-die list.  However, besides the art she opened my eyes to, she also touched on the symbolism behind the cathedrals themselves.  We had to design our own cathedral, present a PowerPoint of specific relatively unknown art of the Renaissance Period (I chose the art under the Sistine Ceiling) - and so you know - PowerPoint was new back in that day and I had no clue how to use it before then.

We also read Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.  Russian literature is not to be overlooked.  Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky taught me so much about theme, I'm not sure if I can completely verbalize the degree to which I was haunted and enthralled simultaneously.

The class was designed to introduce one not just to the fine arts in life, but to delve into them, to truly study them and wonder at why we are so entranced by such things.  She taught me how to love how everything in this world intersects.  Today, yesterday, and tomorrow all meet in art, whether it be literature, sculpture, oil on canvas, or frescoes, charcoal drawings, or the architecture of an ancient temple or theater.

Together, they whisper the thought of the time, the impressions and ideals; the sadness or the glory all at once.  

Oh, Dr. Eichhorn, you lifted my soul and filled my heart with fire and wonder.  You made me believe that my words are possible out in the world.  You gave me silent friends with which to converse, who would always understand the need to create.  The why, the purpose.  Merci beaucoup, Madame.  Merci, merci, merci.

Foolishness at its Finest

This is that time when you want to throw your entire project out the window alongside all your other writing because how could you ever be a writer? Why would anyone want to read what you have to say? And what possessed you to think you ever could write anything besides a simple email?

I've wallowed. I've hidden in a ball under the covers in my room. I've cried. I've considered my sanity. I even had a long talk about my sanity with my husband. I ran a fever from stress.

And I'm back again today. Why? I'm a glutton for punishment, I guess.  I'm an idiot. I'm someone who doesn't give up. I get angry and scream at it all whilst I write.  So if you hear a distant string of irate banter, that's me: not giving up, but not exactly happy about it at the moment.

I want to give up, every fiber of me is hating myself for taking on such work. And I am mad that I am making myself do it. I am such a petulant child sometimes. But as long as I'm working toward something, I'm not going to interrupt. I'm going to let myself scream and banter and curse.

And I will do it until I stop screaming.  And eventually I won't hate myself and my writing.  Well, for awhile.  It comes and goes. 

One Small Step for Me, One Giant Leap for XA-12

My editing is finished for this draft. I was finally able to complete it last night.  And now comes the real challenge, the next step.  Let's try not to make this a big thing. Let's try to see it as it is, just one more step, like all of the others.

And now for the fun part.  Writing some more because I can. Because it's just that much fun to live inside your own worlds. I'm beginning to see why it's fun to exist amidst your own pages.  Not just because it's your creation, but because your own world and the characters you create eventually start to surprise you. 

I just wish I could draw.  That's the most difficult part. Not being able to draw what my head is showing me so I can see it in reality and refer to it is trying.  How do I know I'm not changing their look, their style, their characters over time?

I just hope, if that happens, I am making them more distinguished. Maybe with beards. 

Next post, I hope to begin incorporating a bit of a writing prompt, for fun, and to expand my horizons. Let me know if you have any suggestions.  What writing prompts were your favorite? I'd have to say my favorite writing prompt was to listen to some amazing music and create a story that followed the flow of it.  Now that was exciting.

I'm off to the fair. In the words of my growing Texan heart, let's go write, y'all!